The bungalow at Kromdraai has its own rhythm.
In the late morning, the heat settles over the plot like a soft blanket. The mopane leaves shimmer in the light, cicadas buzz lazily in the distance, and even the guineafowl seem to agree that this is not the time for drama.
On the cool wooden floor of the bungalow lay Bella, our black female Labrador, companion, shadow, and the self-appointed guardian of the bushveld.
Her head rested on her paws. One ear twitched occasionally. In that half-sleep state, she was probably chasing an imaginary tennis ball across endless green fields.
And then, chaos arrived. There was a sudden thud in the tree right next to the bungalow. A grey blur landed on a branch, a real, live vervet monkey, bold as brass and clearly unconcerned about trespassing onto Bella’s territory.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then Bella came alive.
In an instant she was on her feet, barking with a ferocity that surprised even me. Her paws slipped on the wooden floor as she launched herself toward the door, leaping, skidding, spinning in a frantic dance of outrage on the yellow bushveld sand underneath the monkey tree.
Her eyes flicked to me: “Braam, did you SEE that?”
Another bark. A furious jump. A shake of her head that sent a fine spray of Labrador slobber through the air.
The monkey sat calmly in the branch, tail curled like a question mark, eyes bright, completely unimpressed by this four-legged security system.
Bella was not deterred. She barked again, deeper this time, more serious, the kind of bark that says, “This is not a game.”
After a moment, the monkey clearly decided that arguing with Bella was not worth the effort. With a casual leap, it disappeared into the next tree and vanished into the bush.
Silence settled once more over Kromdraai. Bella froze. Ears up. Listening. Every muscle tense. Then slowly, the tension drained from her body. Her tail began to wag.
Her mouth opened, tongue hanging out, and there it was, that unmistakable Labrador grin. Mission accomplished.
At that exact moment, Wizdom came out of his house, a seasoned man of the bush who has seen more monkeys than most people have seen birds.
He glanced at the empty tree, then at Bella, then at me. “Ag,” he said casually, “sometimes there are fifteen of them a day.”
Bella tilted her head as if processing this information. Fifteen monkeys. Her tail wagged even faster.
I could almost see the thought forming in her mind: “I was made for this.”
From that day on, the bungalow was no longer just a place to rest. In Bella’s world, it became Command Centre Alpha, Monkey Watch Division.
And every rustle in the trees, every falling leaf, every distant chatter is now treated with the seriousness of a national security breach.
For me, sitting on the stoep with a cup of coffee, watching Bella patrol her kingdom, I am reminded of something simple and beautiful: Out here, life is real, alive, unpredictable, and never boring.
And Bella? She is ready. Always.